


Imaginary Lines

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Castiel, Angel Meg Masters, Demon Dean, Implied Mpreg, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mates, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2017, angels and demons as inhabitants of two different countries, demons have tails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: "Mates" doesn't mean it's easy, it just mean they got eternity to figure it out





	Imaginary Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Story is based on [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12683292) amazing piece by [CassieCreates](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieCreates/pseuds/CassieCreates). Remember to leave kudos and comments on her art whether or not you enjoy the story.
> 
> Written for SPN Reversebang and betaed by the ever patient Senna ~~and the sorely tried gremlin to my left~~. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine
> 
> As always: Kudos, comments and constructive critism is welcome. If you think tags are missing or rating is off let me know.

By the time Castiel had gotten home it had been way too close to dawn for comfort and as such he could probably be forgiven for not having closed the curtains properly. Not that it stopped him from cursing his half-drunk past self as a ray of sunshine was insistently making its way into his eyes, rudely pulling him from the pleasant dream he was having.

With a disgruntled sound Castiel rolled onto his side, hand already stretching out to pull the body next to his closer and body curving in anticipation of it. When met with nothing but cool sheets and empty air he reluctantly opened his eyes, only to gain visual confirmation to what he already knew: The other side of the bed was empty and had been for at least half an hour.

Taking a minute to make sure getting up would be advisable it was with yet another displeased grunt that he finally got to his feet, swaying a bit as he shook his wings and ran a hand through his messy hair. Then he slowly made his way towards the kitchen hoping there would be any coffee, and that he’d be able to keep it down.

Usually Castiel was more observant and if asked he would blame it on the fact that he was just the tiniest bit hungover still, but he’d still managed to fill his mug with the life giving nectar and adding two teaspoons of sugar before noticing that he wasn’t alone in the room. With a smile he abandoned the coffee and took the few steps towards his mate, wrapping his arms around him and leaning in to nuzzle against him.

As always Castiel gets caught up in the smell of _Dean_ ; there’s sulfur, of course, a base note to his scent – every demons’ scent, in all honesty – though after all these years away from his birth place the scent has faded quite a bit, not as prominent as it had been the first time Castiel had scented him, had almost choked on the sweet, chalk dry smell before he’d been able to take in the rest of Dean’s scent: Lemon and newly mowed grass; Castiel had spent the past many years since trying to name every nuance of the myriads of scents that are Dean’s, but those two are still the ones he names when asked what his mate smells like.

But where Dean is usually soft and welcoming, his scent like a warm embrace making Castiel want to press closer and wrap the both of them in his wings, now there’s a hard bite to it over layered as his scent is with ice and arctic winds (something Castiel would’ve thought impossible for a being forged in the fiery flames of Hell), his body stiff beneath Castiel’s arms, Dean’s hands pawing at his seemingly in an effort to break free.

Castiel instinctively loosens his hold minutely, only to be stopped by Dean’s tail, the agile appendage sneakily – and most likely without conscious prompting from Dean – wrapping tightly around his left arm, its grip strong enough to bruise but gentle enough to be taken as reassurance that Castiel’s touch is welcomed, the opposite message of Dean’s rigid stance and struggling hands; Castiel learnt very early in their acquaintanceship that Dean’s tail was easier to read than the demon himself so he shuffles minutely closer, letting his lips brush against the shell of Dean’s ear.

He never sees the carton of eggs coming before he can feel them crack on his head; whites, yolk and egg shells wetting his hair, running down his face and soaking through his shirt. He does, however, hear the sound of the bedroom door slamming closed behind Dean and the twist of the key in the lock followed shortly by the running of water from the bathroom.

With a sigh Castiel takes a dish towel to dry off enough of the mess to not drip egg everywhere before cleaning the floor, counter and stove. This was not the morning he was expecting to be having.

~ past ~

It’s been centuries since the new kings of Heaven and Hell managed to forge a truce after millennia of fighting. Lines had been drawn on large maps and it had been agreed that neither Demons nor Angels were allowed to cross them.  
Of course, some will always disobey direct orders and lines drawn on pieces of paper mean very little when you’re chasing a deer through a forest, or you see a pretty face in the distance you have a strong urge to see up close and personal. Consequently, in less than a decade prisons on both sides of the border were constructed and filled with the inhabitants from the other side.

Soon thereafter parents began to petition their kings to intercede for their poor children who didn’t know any better and had never intended to cross the border in the first place./p>

It forced the kings (to their great delight) and their advisors (to their even greater displeasure) to convene again and renegotiate their original agreement. It had taken the better part of a year but in the end everybody was released and allowed free passage to go home. However it did present a new problem as some of those released refused to leave before getting to meet the reason they had crossed the border in the first place. Privately, the two kings were overjoyed with the prospect of old grudges being forgotten in time as the young ones would start mating with each other, but advisors are usually chosen because they are _very_ old, _very_ stubborn and _very_ set in the old ways and as such they fought the former prisoners’ requests at every turn.

And so once again tearful parents made their way to where the kings and their advisors were gathered, and after yet another few years even the oldest, most stubborn advisor couldn’t keep fighting the tears from desperate parents who just wanted their children to come home and hopefully provide them with grandchildren in the process.

Thus, a new treaty was signed allowing angels and demons to mingle, though requiring them to not live further than thirty miles from the border. The advisors might not want to be cried on any longer but that didn’t mean they wanted to see their land overrun by somebody not looking like them.

Life went on as life has a habit of, most demons stayed in Hell and most angels in Heaven and only a few made the journey past imaginary lines drawn on pieces of paper locked away in chests forgotten in dusty rooms. Even fewer still remained on the other side for long and nobody ever thought things were going to change.

~

In the absolute center of Heaven there’s a large field long since turned into a garden. Soft, lush, eternally spring green grass grows among the beds with every flower, herb and bush in existence; each chosen for their beauty, smell or yield. Beyond the garden are the orchards, the trees an almost year round cornucopia of flowers and fruits, and surrounding it all and spreading almost all the way to the borders of Hell is the angelic settlements.

And in the middle of the garden is the palace: A magnificent structure made entirely of white marble that stands almost a hundred feet and three stories into the air.  
The rooms are furnished with chairs specifically designed for beings with wings tending to be a good two to three feet taller than they are, intricate carvings in the mahogany lovingly polished for eons making every edge smooth and soft as cloth; a few divans placed in little rooms far away from the entrance and the main hall, meant for those who could need a few minutes rest while being here.

Reliefs are carved into the marble walls depicting historical figures in more or less accurate circumstances interspersed with colorful tapestries depicting everyday life in Heaven. Despite all the ornamentation there are still room for the high windows, the upper half made by stained glass – some made to look like animals, flowers, trees, and some nothing but rainbows of shapes simply made that way because whoever did it thought it was beautiful – and the lower half clear glass, meant to open if it gets too warm inside with them closed.

However lavishly decorated and well-tended it is, nobody actually lives in the palace. It’s a place for the angels to gather; this is where their all fatherly king sits on his gold inlaid stool (because why make a throne when the one meant to sit in it won’t be able to) when mediating between contending parties; it’s where they grieve their losses and, most importantly, it’s where they gather when celebrating.

~

Castiel wasn’t hiding. Sure, he was up in the gallery looking down at all those gathered on the floor of the great hall, making sure to keep in the shadows while expertly using the pillars to obscure his wings from view, but that didn’t mean he was _hiding_ , merely that he was observing. And there was plenty to look at, even for one who was used to the lavish parties Angels tend to throw. Demons, after all, weren’t that common a sight, not even with the ban being lifted a few, short decades ago when Chuck and Crowley had finally managed to strong-arm their hidebound advisors into submission.

So maybe Castiel was, in fact, hiding. But it wasn’t as if anybody noticed or cared about his absence, nor would anybody encourage him to join the festivities if they did notice him up here. Besides, it was easier to see things from up here than if he had to be on the floor, weaving in and out among the other angels. Wings tended to fill quite a lot in anybody’s field of vision, especially up close.  
Not to mention that the sight that had captured Castiel’s eyes was far too good to pass up for the chance of having to engage in conversation with any other attendees.

At a small table sequestered away from the rest as it held only pies and other kinds of pastries that angels cared very little for, stood a lone figure. Both the fact that the person was standing there and the lack of wings protruding from the person’s back marked them as a demon. Based on their height – which at Castiel’s best estimate was somewhere around the same as his – the broadness of the demon’s shoulders and the narrowness of their hips, Castiel was willing to bet five minutes of socializing that the demon was male. Apart from that, the short, light brown hair on the demon’s head and the tail loosely curled around a leg nicely filling out the dress pants it’s hidden under, there really isn’t anything extraordinary about the sight, and yet Castiel finds himself enraptured.

As intensely as he’s staring at the demon, Castiel still notices when someone’s approaching him, though it’s a surprise when Castiel recognizes the arch of Lucifer’s wings. Of all the angels, Lucifer had been the most vocal in regards to not letting the demons set foot on sacred ground, in not allowing them entrance past the pearly gates.

Under Castiel’s watchful eye, the demon turns halfway to greet the newcomer – he takes a second to pat himself on the back, because yes, the demon’s definitely male – and even if Castiel can’t see the demon clearly from his vantage point, he can see the way the demon’s body stiffens at whatever Lucifer is saying and Castiel suddenly feels strangely curious.

Slowly he inches closer, trying to remain hidden from view of both Lucifer and the unknown demon, little snippets of what Lucifer’s saying audible over the noise from the hall; fragments without context until Castiel’s finally standing practically on top of them.

-

Dean _hates_ angels, and if it hadn’t been for Sammy’s puppy eyes he’d have stayed home where nobody was looking down their nose at him just because they’d managed to grow useless appendages. At least they had pie – the sheer amount piled onto the small table had made him smile as he could almost hear the wood groan pitifully under the weight. Then he’d taken a bite and had resolutely decided to _maybe_ be a little more charitable towards the angels – he wasn’t going to move from the pie though, no matter how many glares his brother was throwing at him.

Speaking of glares (well, looks at least), Dean couldn’t help but wonder for how long the angel on the balcony would keep pretending not to be there, when Dean could clearly feel the weight of the angel’s gaze on the back of his neck. He’d been trying, discreetly he might add, to get a good look at the angel for the past five minutes, but aside from the fact that the angel’s wings were significantly darker in color than any other angel Dean had seen and the messy tuft of black hair on the angel’s head so far he hadn’t had any luck figuring out what the angel looked like.

Dean’s rudely pulled from his contemplation on whether or not he should find out if there’s a way up on the balcony when you’re not in possession of a pair of useless wings by movement in his peripheral vision. Not wanting to be too blatantly impolite (and risk having his brother’s wrath rained down on him) he turns to greet the newcomer.

Just a look at the guy and Dean can already _feel_ his earlier resolution to at least give the angels the benefit of pie-fueled doubt fly out the window. The angel is about his own height and like basically every other angel Dean has seen so far he’s wearing a suit. Though unlike the other angels who seem to have an affinity for bright colors, this one’s wearing one so light grey in color it almost appears white, though in contrast to his massive, snow white wings with streaks of gold it looks almost filthy. He has blond hair and blue eyes and Dean might’ve been inclined to call him attractive if it hadn’t been for the condescending look on his face, the way his nose scrunches as if he’s just smelled something foul even as he steps just a little too far into Dean’s personal space as he introduces himself as Lucifer.

Taking half a step to the side, Dean offers his own name in reciprocation before turning back to the table, hoping the angel will take it as the dismissal it’s meant as. Sadly, it seems that this Lucifer didn’t get the memo that Dean wanted to be left alone and rather than leaving, starts talking. The angel’s voice is all saccharine sweetness spewing words wrapped in suggestiveness and venom, and though Dean can hardly be called a shrinking violet, he can feel himself stiffen further in discomfort at every sentence the other utters. He’s so close to risking his brother’s disappointment that he can feel the phantom pain of broken skin on his knuckles when the sound of a flock of birds taking off distracts him momentarily as he looks around for the source of the sound. When he looks back the angel from the balcony is standing next to Lucifer, his brow furrowed as if surprised he’s suddenly standing down here rather than up in the shadows where he’d been at least for the past hour according to Dean’s estimate.

The angel is _breathtaking_ in Dean’s humble opinion. His wings are obsidian black with shimmers of a dark blue that draws the attention to his eyes, shades lighter they’re still the most stunning blue Dean has ever seen and he can feel himself getting lost in them. It takes tremendous effort tearing his gaze away and take in the rest of the angel. The angel’s suit is black with a white shirt and a crooked blue tie and for some unfathomable reason he has decided to finish the already half-rumbled look with a tan trench coat; Dean has no idea why he’d have the need for an overcoat considering nobody else does, but weirdly enough the thing suits him.

But the best thing, the reason Dean is rooted to the floor? that has nothing to do with how gorgeous the angel looks but everything to do with the divine smell coming from him: Honeysuckle, petrichor and ozone; not exactly smells Dean’s used to - after all, Hell’s not exactly a place that invites the growing of any kind of ornamental gardens; besides animal husbandry is far more common there than farming anyway - nor any he’s been all that fond of during the journey through Heaven, and yet coming from the angel in front of him it’s mouthwatering, perhaps even better than the smell of newly baked pie (in Dean’s opinion up until that point in his life _the_ best smell ever). 

It's eternities later, or maybe mere seconds when an annoyed grumble claws at the edges of Dean's consciousness as if trying to gain his attention. Thinking it's probably his brother but not willing to look away to check it out and risk the angel disappearing as abruptly as he made it down the balcony, Dean waves his hand in the universal sign of 'everything's okay and I want to be left alone'. Though for some reason the message doesn't seem to get across as there's an insistent hand on Dean's arm, yanking hard enough that he stumbles slightly to the side. Which is all it takes for him to snap back into reality and remembering that it's Lucifer and not his brother who’s standing there, and judged by the look on his face he doesn't appreciate not getting any attention.

Before Dean can take steps to make his displeasure known (and possibly ruin the peace between angels and demons, though he doesn’t think about that), the black-winged angel has grabbed his other arm and with the same flutter of a bird flock taking off and with a _very_ unsettling feeling to his stomach Dean finds himself being outside, surrounded by trees the names of which he doesn’t know but clad in the reds and yellows of fall that he remembers from his childhood when his mother would bring him across the border to buy some of the foods you couldn’t get in Hell.

They stare at each other for what feels like eons. Blue and green locked in a gaze so heated it’s a miracle the grass beneath their feet doesn’t catch fire with the intensity of it. The connection is instant, almost too much to handle, and Dean can feel his knees shaking and he has a feeling - though he dare not move his eyes to possibly confirm it - that the angel is in much the same predicament.

Dean remembers his mother describing it, how meeting her mate had been like a sledge hammer to the face. He’d always balked at the less than romantic description, but now he realizes there isn’t any other way to give the feeling justice. It doesn’t make the shock of it any less but at least he manages to remain on his feet - his father hadn’t been as lucky.

~

They don’t get around to introducing themselves until the next morning, when Dean finds that Castiel’s voice is always gravel rough and not just due to having had a dick down his throat seconds before speaking; it _almost_ makes him want to drag the angel back to bed for round he’s-not-entirely-sure-but-definitely-in-the-double-digits (they emerge three hours later and only because Cas insists), but they kind of need to tell a few important people that they’ve managed to not only find their mate but said mate is a little different from themselves. 

* * *

It’s not _easy_ ; just because they’re mates doesn’t mean they magically get a happily ever after, and their first fight had occured no less than ten minutes after leaving the room the morning after.  
The thing was: announcing their newfound status to not only what seemed like all of Heaven, a great deal of Hell and the reigning monarchs of both countries had set in motion a chain of events Dean had neither anticipated nor did he care for at all. Not that he was ever going to say that when Cas was looking like an eager puppy with stars twinkling in his eyes and a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips that made Dean regret leaving the bed so soon. But then Chuck had said “mating ceremony” and Dean’s perfectly good mood had flown out the window.

It wasn’t that Dean had any plans of leaving Cas behind but despite the still dazed feeling of the proverbial sledgehammer to the face he would prefer to get to know the angel before committing the rest of his life to the man. Besides, however few and far apart they were there most definitely were cases of mates _not_ being compatible in the long run and with his luck Dean’s always figured he’d be one of them. The ensuing screaming match had been epic but in the end Cas and Dean had settled on getting to know each other and postponing any and all eventual ceremonies for later. 

-

Living together is equal parts horrible and wonderful. Neither of them used to sharing their space and both convinced theirs is the only right way to do things. Those first few years sees the both of them storming from their joint house slamming the door behind them as they practically seethe in anger at the other’s stubbornness. The makeup sex is worth it, though.  
But the longer they stay together the more the sharp edges gets polished and at some point they manage the fine art of compromise; and at some point Dean agrees to a mating ceremony - if he’d had any brain cells left after Cas was done showing his appreciation he’d might’ve regretted it but as it is he feels sated and content with his mate lying next to him smiling and making plans for the rest of eternity.

It’s every bit as awful as he thought it would be but the joy on Cas’ face makes him smile and thank everybody who show up to celebrate with them. Dean even manages two minutes of civil conversation with Lucifer (he has no idea why the angel is even here, considering he spends those two minutes insulting everything that Dean is) before Cas swoops in and saves him - which basically means he bribes Dean with pie.  
It has always amazed Dean that despite being the most horrible cook ever Cas has somehow still managed to learn how to make the best pies Dean’s ever had. More than once has he been talked into things he’d rather avoid by the alluring promise of the sweet smell of freshly made pie though here and now it gets him the sugary taste of Cas’ plump lips interspersed with savoury bites of apple pie.

In the end the ceremony doesn’t change their lives; after all Dean and Cas have been living like a mated pair basically since the moment they met. They still go to sleep next to each other every night even after a fight, Dean still makes every meal and Cas still experiments with pie and tend to his bees; they visit each other’s families and babysit their nieces and nephews.

* * *

It’s a joint celebration between Heaven and Hell, the 700th anniversary of the first peace treaty between the two countries, and basically every demon and angel are gathered at the field where it was negotiated.  
There are stalls as far as anybody confined to the ground can see, a plethora of sounds and smells enough to make some regret not staying home and some almost getting sick; it’s joyful and festive and Dean would prefer to be practically anywhere but here; he spares a brief thought for Cas’ newest pie experiment (raspberry and redcurrant, the reason he’s even here) and with a sigh makes his way through the crowd, hoping to find his mate before going crazy.

He passes a stall selling roasted chicken and it takes everything not to say goodbye to the afore-mentioned pie as he’s hit with the smell of warm oil; he picks up the pace trying to avoid jostling his now upset stomach any more than it already is, something that’s quite difficult given the sheer amount of people milling about and the children running around. And still no Cas in sight so he decides to get comfortable on one of the many benches placed all around.

As his stomach settles breathing comes easier and Dean closes his eyes for a moment enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and minutely relaxing as he feels more like his usual self than he has ever since he got within a mile of this place. He’s just about to get up and finally find Cas when he hears it: a low, throaty laugh followed by the familiar scent of honeysuckle, petrichor and ozone. In slow motion Dean turns his head in the direction of the sound, his eyes landing upon Cas with his arms and wings wrapped around a tiny brunette with silver wings draped over Cas’ back. He’s not sure _why_ but something about the sight is unsettling in a way he’s not used to when it comes to his mate and he can’t shake the feeling of dread.

A group of angels and demons blocks his view for a few seconds and when looking again Cas and the unknown angel are gone; Dean gets to his feet trying to tell himself it was another angel, one who looks like Cas at a distance. When that doesn’t work he tries telling himself it was probably just an old friend, but the voice in the back of his head telling him that Cas has only ever hugged Dean like that is far too loud to be ignored, and rather than find his mate and talk with him Dean goes in the direction of the dance floor laid out for the party later that evening, knowing his brother and his mate will be there with their two kids - he figures he’ll need the distraction.

~

By the time the sun sets Dean’s exhausted. He’s been sleeping poorly for a few weeks, his body’s been sore and he can’t keep lying to himself that it’s just a persistent bug; add to that that his brother’s kids have more energy than is good for them and he should probably not have offered to entertain them for the day. Thankfully they’re both almost as tired as their uncle and willingly make their way back to their parents and the large tables groaning with food.

Dean’s debating whether or not to simply pile slices of roast onto his plate or if he should show a minimum of decorum and stick to just three when he hears a voice he recognizes but can’t put a face to.

”I told you that would happen,” the speaker scoffs, “as if an angel and a demon could ever be mates.” He laughs as there’s a clinking sound of coins changing hands, and Dean’s trying to will his legs to start moving, preferably _before_ he’s caught eavesdropping on a conversation that _doesn’t have to be about him_ as there are plenty other demons and angels mated to each other – maybe no more than ten percent but the numbers are increasing – so it’s not that farfetched to think it’s about someone else than Dean and Cas specifically.

”Perhaps I’ll offer consolation when Castiel finally man’s up and breaks the bond, after all those lips would look perfect” the rest of the sentence is muffled as there’s a sound as if someone’s slapped a hand over the speaker’s mouth but Dean’s stopped paying attention by the time Cas’ name came up, carefully putting his plate down on the table before beginning to walk.  
He moves on autopilot, smiles and greets everybody as he passes them but never stopping; stopping means thinking and that way lies madness. He thinks he sees black wings in the corner of his eyes, hears his name in that gravel rough voice he can’t get enough of, but he keeps walking without looking back. He keeps his back straight and his head high until he closes the door behind him and can collapse on the carpeted floor.

~

When he wakes it’s dark, he’s cold and there’s a crick in his neck and a voice in his head sounding suspiciously like his brother’s that _maybe_ he should talk things over before assuming the worst. Dean goes to bed, after all if he ignores the problem it’ll probably go away on its own.

The second time he wakes it’s to Cas’ chest against his own, his wings wrapped around him in a way that makes him want to cry - Dean hates being sick - and the dubious smell of stale air and alcohol on the angel’s breath makes him wonder just how late his mate got home and what he was doing until he did. He extricates himself from Cas’ hold less gently than normally but Cas simply rolls over and starts snoring. It’s awfully adorable and Dean almost forgets his righteous anger.

He makes breakfast because he’s hungry and coffee because it’s habit even if he won’t drink any of it himself. The house is quiet though it’s different to how it had been when Dean had woken up lying in the hallway, the presence of another breathing being making the silence warmer somehow, makes his shoulders drop as the tension bleeds from them; maybe whoever he heard talking was wrong, after all Cas came home and slept next to Dean.

Dean’s staring into the abyss of dirty dishes when Cas shuffles into the kitchen, blearily fills a cup with coffee and with an appreciative noise takes a small sip only to scrunch up his face and add sugar. Dean’s resolutely _not_ looking at him and therefore doesn’t realize Cas has noticed his presence before his arms are wrapping themselves around Dean’s torso.  
And he’s definitely not ready for this, the way Cas envelops him not just physically but with his scent, too; so he wiggles, paws at Cas’ arm even gets as far as taking a deep breath of relief as he loosens his hold only to suddenly be pulled closer to a broad chest, the featherlight touch of chapped lips against the shell of his ear. Dean’s not proud of it but he panics, reaches for the closest object he can grab with one hand and smashes it over Cas’ head.

He stifles the sound of his slightly hysterical giggles with the running water.

~

Surveying the floor critically to make sure he’s gotten every last bit of egg he mulls over Dean’s odd behavior ever since yesterday.  
They’d agreed to meet at the grounds seeing as Cas had to be there early getting the small stall ready where he planned on selling some of their excess honey and Dean hadn’t slept all that well lately so he’d wanted to try and sleep in. Then he’d run into Meg, his best friend back when growing up who’d been one of the first ones crossing the border into Hell after the first peace treaty had been signed.  
Cas is ashamed to admit he’d kinda forgotten about Dean somewhere around their third drink; or, rather, had forgotten Dean was going to show up, he’d been talking about the demon almost before hugging Meg the way he’d done when they were fledglings.

They drank and talked, the drunker they got the more Cas realized how different she was to the Meg he used to know. She was still every bit as fierce and wild as he remembered her but she was also completely besotted with her mate and in no way afraid to let it through while talking about her. Cas couldn’t wait to introduce Meg (and her mate at some point) to Dean.

At long last they’d had to admit defeat, Cas could barely stand and Meg was giggling uncontrollably and most everybody else had already gone home. After a last hug they’d agreed to meet up in a few days and then made their way to their respective homes.  
Walking through the front door and being met with the smell of _Dean_ and _home_ had always been a comfort to Cas, but that night it had filled him with a warmth unlike any he’d felt before, and then taking a few minutes to just stand by the side of the bed drinking in the sight of his mate resting peacefully had made his heart - sappy as it sounded - swell with happiness. Crawling under the covers, pressing close and draping a wing over their bodies had somehow made him breathe easier than he had since Dean started sleeping poorly during the night and being sick during the morning.

Then the penny drops. Those glimpses out the corner of his eye where Cas thought he’d seen his mate only to dismiss it, the disappointed glares he’d gotten from Gabriel and the gleeful ones from Lucifer; it all adds up to the fact that Dean _had_ been there, had probably seen Cas and Meg together and for whatever unfathomable reason gotten the wrong idea.

A locked door turns out to be no match for an angel on a mission, and it’s not even a full minute after Cas’ realization that he’s once again holding his mate in his arms, whispering quiet apologies in his ear and kissing silent reassurance into his skin.  
Dean shivers against him, hesitant at first as if he doesn’t dare believing the tenderness in Cas’ touch, but soon they’re moving against each other, a well-practiced push and pull that soon ends in a sweaty mess, washed off hastily before going back to bed.

Wrapped in the cocoon of Castiel’s wings and the near darkness where the light has trouble getting through the feathers they eliminate every misunderstanding, the tiny space soon filling with the murmurs of renewed promises of forever and the joyous exclamation of a secret spilled.

End

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> This is the amazing picture that inspired the story. Don't forget to give the artist, CassieCreates, kudos and comments [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12683292) and a like and reblog [here](https://cassiecreates.tumblr.com/post/167347353384/art-title-grumpy-mornings-artist-cassiecreates)


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